


Katoh

by marreena



Series: non omnis moriar [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bondage, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Safewords, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marreena/pseuds/marreena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times one stopped the other, and one time neither of them did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Katoh

**Author's Note:**

> some quick warnings about this fic: it does have rough sex in it (obviously), but mainly it also deals with the Inquisitor's PTSD that's resulted from emotional and sexual abuse and mentions rape, so please be careful if any of that is triggering
> 
> also some trespasser spoilers and enjoy

It’s incredible all the ways Bull can tie her up, Ariala muses. She wonders if Bull stares at her during his free time when they’re out on the field and thinks of how she would look with her arms tied behind her and thighs forcibly spread. What type of knots would hold the best against her straining. 

Of course, the more ways he can tie her up, the more ways he can tease her. 

She doesn’t even bother trying to restrain her gasps as Bull pulls her even farther down the bed, keeping his mouth on her center. The ropes became tight a while ago as they were tied to the bed frame, but that doesn’t stop Bull from pushing her further. With every breath she can feel the rope against her neck, pulling tighter.

Bull ducks out from underneath her—only a little bit though, they are in an awkward position that will take more than a couple seconds to unwind themselves from each other—and grins. “Lookin’ good, boss,” he keeps one hand on her hip and the other is ducked underneath her rubbing small circles into her clit. Her entire body's so hypersensitive right now, she can feel each ridge of his horns that are pressed against the backs of her thighs. 

She hiccups a bit and tries to move closer to Bull. She wants to come, she has wanted to come for what feels like at least an hour now. Every time she got anywhere near the edge Bull would stop rolling his tongue over her and pull back to watch her pant. “Bull,” she whimpers and adds a little trembling overall to help the effect. “Please eat me out. I want to come so bad. Please, Iron Bull, I need you.” 

Bull chuckles and leans up to kiss her swollen lips, “You’re being such a good girl right now. I didn’t even have to ask you to beg. You know you look so good from down here—the way you push your chest out, _yeah_ , like that,” he hums and reaches up to cup her breast as she arches her back for him and indulges in the renewed pulse in between her legs. Oh Maker, she wishes her legs weren’t bound so she could feel how swollen and slick she is right now. She’s positive that she’s dripping onto the bed—she can _feel_  it.

It’s been a while since he’s teased her this much—must have been the touchy Orlesians. 

She whines again as his fingers mercilessly twist and scrape her nipple, and faintly in the back of her mind she can feel the dull pain from the ropes becomes even more glaring. A gasp is drawn from her lips as he puts his hands on her hips and drags her even closer to him and the ropes are even more taught. Something is wrong, the ropes were done _wrong_ , although that can’t be right because Bull always is so meticulous about the ropes. However, the pain that’s flaring and burning in her right shoulder is actually becoming more prominent than the pleasure from Bull sucking on her clit. 

She needs to readjust—but she’s so _close._  


Her hips cant just a little bit to get him to roll his tongue in just the right way and she hears the _pop_  before the pain really sets in. 

Her shoulder feels like it’s been hit with a burning iron as the ropes still pull her arm even farther out. She tries to move and ease the pain but Bull holds her and honestly he can usually tell when Ariala is hurting, so why is he not noticing _now_? Is he that absorbed in eating her out? 

Well that boosts her confidence a bit. 

She yelps and he stills underneath her, “Stop—uh, _fuck_ — _katoh_!” 

She hasn’t had to use that word yet. The word has rolled over her tongue many times as he has always insisted that she got familiar with saying it—that she feels comfortable with using it. 

Also, she was slightly skeptical that he would actually stop if she used it.

He immediately starts untangling them which is harder than anything she’s ever done and really how did he manage getting them into this position? She whimpers and restrains herself from moving. More than likely if she tries to move herself she will just end up with suffocating Bull with her ass. 

“Cut me out, please,” she whimpers and choses to ignore that there are in fact hot tears rolling down her face. She opens her eyes again when the bed shifts and Bull cups her face with his hands. 

He gently wipes her tears with his thumbs and reaches for the knife that he keeps on her dresser just in case something like this happens. Without any questions, he cuts her out of the ropes, but she doesn’t move until all of them fall to the bed. “Are you okay? Can I touch you?” he asks when he finally finishes and touches her gently again. 

She nods, “I dislocated my shoulder,” and then she laughs and leans forward to touch her forehead to his chest. 

She can feel the rumbling laugh in his chest underneath her forehead, and his small chuckle really shouldn’t soothe her as much as it does. 

“You want me to pop it back?” he presses a kiss to the top of her forehead. 

“Please, oh Maker.” 

They carefully maneuver her so that she is on her back, and Bull does it quick for both of them, and _Maker_  does it hurt but at least she has mobility in her shoulder again. Before she can even realize it, Bull has a salve and is rubbing it into her shoulder to calm to the swelling and resulting pain. 

“You stopped when I asked you,” she murmurs almost reverently—and then freezes. She realizes what she said wrong, and she does _not_  want to get into it right now. She could lie, but it’s something so sensitive, she doesn’t think she could, not to Bull at least. He deserves better than a lie.

Also, it’s hard to interpret her words any other way. 

Her suspicions are confirmed when she feels Bull’s fingers stutter against her shoulder and she can almost feel the questions he’s directing at her through his gaze.

“Has someone not stopped when you asked them to?” he asks and her throat tightens because they never stop when she asks them to. Shit, usually that just makes them go harder until she goes still waiting for it to be done— _no_. She doesn’t want to think about _that_ here with Bull. No has never been a word that she can use, she has never had the power to use it.

She’s glad in this moment that he can’t see her face—doesn’t stop him from noticing how her body tenses and her fingers curl in the sheets, and she curses how observant he is. 

Instead, she borrows a note from his book, and deflects. 

She throws a smirk over her shoulder and gets on her knees to prop her ass up for him. The arch of her back draws his eye to the curve, but his eye still land on her face, a crinkle of worry still between his brows. “Come on, Bull. We can talk later. Fuck me, please.” 

She slips a hand in between her legs and just runs her fingers through her slick folds. The cool air touches her heated skin and she lets the moan roll from her lips as she spreads herself for him, and for a moment, she gets lost in it and slips her fingers in.

The way Bull’s entire body weighs down on her as he bends over her and presses a kiss to the back of her neck sends a shiver through her entire body.  His hand ducks underneath her and slowly pulls her hand away and presses it into the mattress after threading their fingers together. “What do you want me to do, boss?” 

“ _Fuck me_.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ariala is off, Bull realizes.

She hides it better than most people do—she always has. It’s something he’s always atoned to her noble backing and whatever trauma and stress that comes with. Nobles have been something he’s always disapproved of. Even his days in the Qun told him of the selfishness and countless other vices nobles indulge in. They have no sense of duty, only for themselves. 

With people like Josephine, he realizes that’s wrong. 

With people like Ariala, he realizes how it’s wrong. 

There is a duty but it’s selfish. There is a duty to her family and herself that Ariala attires to even without realizes it, and right now as she sits at her desk he can see her muling over something that deals with her family. Many different ideals and morals and duties are conflicting and she just _doesn’t know_. She’s too young to know how to carry the weight of her family.

He can’t sort that out for her—he doesn’t want to. That is such a central part of her that he doesn’t want to influence her into something else that she isn’t. She’s so young, she’s still growing, Bull must remind himself. 

However, even though he will not try to influence her, he will provide a distraction, a comfort. It catches her eye when he starts rubbing himself through his pants. The corners of her mouth quirk up, but she remains at her desk—it’s the start of a game between them.

Who will give in first?

Ariala has a stronger will than Bull earlier thought—he had mistaken her not putting up a fight as a weaker will, and he was definitely wrong on that. She managed to trick him for a long time into thinking that her playing into his game and giving in was really her. She did that because she thought that’s what he wanted—his heart still twists remembering when she told him that that’s what most people wanted from her. 

It isn’t until his pants are clearly tented that she looks up again—her tongue darts out and wets her lips and he knows she’s lost some ground. He continues languidly rubbing himself thinking about how she’s probably got a good throb going on between her legs, how slick she must be. He wants to bury his face, his tongue, his fingers, his cock into her and tease her until she’s begging for more. He can almost taste her tang on his tongue and he moans. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, coyly as if she doesn’t know that he’s absolutely obsessed with fucking her. 

“How great it would be to pin you down and lick your cunt clean,” he tells her truthfully. 

She nods and hums as if she were considering the notion as one of her propositions from a noble offering more soldiers to the Inquisition. She licks her thumb and uses it to flick to the next sheet of paper in her report—it shouldn’t be seductive but _fuck_  does she know how to make it so with how her tongue just darts out and her thumb drags against her bottom lip. 

Her eyes don’t even look up to him, “I was thinking about riding you tonight,” and he groans at that. The image of her thighs spread to either side of him and her hands clenching at his stomach as his cock disappears into her flashes through his mind and makes his cock jump against his hand. “Do you want details?” 

  
_Oh_ , he realizes, _that’s_ how tonight will be. “What are you thinking, Kadan?”

She takes a sip from the glass of wine on her desk and clears her throat. “I was thinking you would lay on your back and hold onto the bed frame as I fucked myself on your cock. You would make me do all the work until I’m about to come, my thighs are all shaky and I can barely keep the rhythm, and then you grab me by the hips and fuck up into me so hard that I cry. And you dig your finger so hard that I bruise and bleed, and when I’m about to come you pull me off and hold me above your cock and make me beg for it. And when you finally got it out of me, you’ll fuck so hard up into me that we both come."

Her eyes flick up to him, _daring_ , “What do you think, Bull?” 

  
_He can’t._ It’s somehow a fluid motion of him jumping off the bed and pulling off his pants as he stalks towards her desk. Her eyes widen and her brow furrows as he grabs hold of her arm and pulls her away from her work. She collides with his chest and he rips off the remaining nightgown and robe she was in. “I think you’re absolutely perfect,” and kisses her hard. 

Her brow is still furrowed when they finish, “Bull, I’m not ready.” 

He scoffs, “Leave your work behind. Leave the Inquisition behind. You need a break. You need me."

Ariala is still not convinced, though—and it’s exactly _this_  why she needs to leave the Inquisition behind for a bit—and tugs against his hold, “I’m not—“ 

He quiets her with another kiss and tugs her back to the bed, and he can feel her change of heart when her lips go from unmoving to giving him a hard nip against his bottom lip. He groans and falls back on the bed, he gets into the position just like she said and grins at her, “Come on.” 

She’s still off, he realizes. Her smile is there, but her eyes are still far off, dazed. She needs a bit more convincing, so he leans up to kiss her some more because maybe they’re rushing a bit too much for her. The look in her eyes stops him, though, there’s a glint and an edge and the game is still on. 

The bed shifts under her weight as she steps up and walks over to him, stepping over him. It’s a view that he never gets tired of—the view of a body that she lets him enjoy time and time again—and he grins back at her. 

It’s like a kick in the gut when she drops and manages to position him and sink all the way down in one fluid motion. Usually, she doesn’t give either of them time to catch their breath before she starts riding him, but she pauses and just sits on top of him. One of her hands curl against his stomach and she digs her fingers in, scratching him. The muscles underneath her hand jump and the pleasure sparks in him. 

She’s so _hot_  and _tight_  he can barely breathe and before he’s ready she starts fucking herself hard on him. 

There’s too much friction, Bull notices immediately. He knows he’s big but he feels as though he’s going to pull her inside out every time she rocks up. The tug is too big and while it’s absolutely amazing for him it has to hurt for her, no matter how much she enjoys the pain of it. 

Maybe she just needs to spread her slick since there was no actual foreplay. He wants to reach up and rub at her clit but she’s working herself so fast and hard on his cock that it would more likely hurt her even more. Even so, he does feel her become more slick after the first initial couple thrusts.

“Kadan,” he moans and tries to keep his head clear from the pleasure and just watches her. She’s not making the usual moans—it’s all gasps and hisses—and her eyes are squeezed shut. There’s hot tears rolling down her cheeks, which isn’t all that unusual but as with the rest of her, it feels out of place and unsettling. A curl of disgust is knotting itself in his chest. 

He lets go of the headboard and reaches to hold her, to change their positions, to slow it down, to do _something_  because right now it’s not working. However, before he can even get his hands below his head, she hisses at him, “Keep them up.” 

  
_Oh_. That’s her authority voice, her _Inquisitor_  voice. 

He’s been building up to this moment, he’s much too close, but he focuses on her and holds off. Red catches his eye—and it’s not the red of a splash of flush across her cheeks, no it’s the red of her left hand digging so hard into her own thigh that there’s blood. Her thigh is marred with her digging into her own skin and the blood is smeared all over, but oh does his eyes follow to the focus of this entire thing and. 

“Katoh,” he says immediately, and the disgust that had been curling in his stomach is now overtaking any sort of pleasure he could have had built up and he’s already going soft inside of her. 

She shudders to a stop but she does not immediately get off of him. She’s gasping through her nose as she clenches her teeth and still clutching at her ruined thigh. Her eyes are wild and she looks at him almost as if he betrayed her. He waits for her to move herself—he doesn’t want lift her up and cause her even more pain. 

She slowly rises and Bull makes himself look, he makes himself look at the blood, at how he tore her open. He watches as she gingerly moves on the bed and lays on her back next to him, still panting. He carefully gets up from the bed as to not jostle her and grabs the appropriate salves and potions from her desk and a cloth to wipe both of them off—he immediately cleans himself but it does little to settle him with how the cloth turns red with her blood. 

Her arms are thrown over her face as she tries to calm down.

“May I treat you?” he asks and carefully sits on the side of the bed. 

Her nod is signal for him to lean over and gently rub the salve into her thigh. That’s the only area that he can really treat. “I have a potion if you want to drink it,” he offers.

“I’m sorry,” she says and he can hear the quiver in her voice, and a sharp pain right behind his nose develops immediately. 

He hesitates to reach for her, but does it and lays his hand on her stomach as that’s really the only place he can reach. The skin jumps underneath his touch and he remembers how ticklish she is there. “It’s okay, Kadan,” he promises and leans down to press a kiss to her elbow, and then her forearm, her wrist, and when she moves her arm he presses one last kiss to her cheek. “What are you thinking?” he asks and lets the light joke quirk his lips.

She chokes out a laugh before her smile sours and she touches his cheek, “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re the one who got hurt.” 

Her nose crinkles in the way it does when she gets mad at nobles but can’t show her true anger and she grits her teeth. “You’re telling me you didn’t feel any pain when you saw what happened to me?” 

He physically reels back from her and his heart thuds in his chest at the look on her face. There’s words on his tongue but none of them form as he just stares at her.

She doesn’t take the words back, but her hand goes back to softly touching his jaw and trailing up to grip around the back of his neck. Her expression is less severe now, but the tension is still there, “Bull, _you_ used the watchword."

He looks at her and sighs, “Are you alright?” he asks again. 

Her face instantly softens and she finally realizes, “Yes. I am.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Seeing Ariala at Halamshiral is something that Bull cannot describe. 

His thoughts prior to the actual event always revolved around the thought of seeing her actually navigate a proper gala, to see her in her element that her noble life has prepped her for. He always thought that it would be a treat to see her twist her grasp around everyone at the event and have them play into her hand. 

He is not let down. 

The moment she steps out of the carriage, the entire court holds their breath. Each foot covered in the finest boots from the Free Marches that are only revealed from underneath her black sheath dress when she steps out. A floor length jacket is the main attraction with the full embroidery of red flowers and patterns that speaks to her origins of Ostwick and so much more. 

Her, Vivienne, Leliana, and Josephine had conferred on which coat would be perfect as a statement on the first night in Halamshiral—how it had to speak of her power, grace, and ethereal presence  Her dress would speak just as much as her words would and had to be carefully crafted. 

They wanted her to represent Andraste. 

They meet no one really important that first night. It’s mostly just men and women swooning over the Inquisitor. It is a success as she makes an impact and practically builds the anticipation for all of them who wish to meet the holy herald. She refuses to let people into the room to meet her and that just adds to the illusion even more of how untouchable she is. 

Her entire presence is different from the one that they all have grown accustomed to. She has become more than just herself; for the first time, she really embraces the title of Herald of Andraste and embodies something holy. Even in the quarters of just her circle, she holds herself in the same way. It’s intimidating but also so hot—something that Bull whispers that in her ear bashfully, and her resulting blush and laugh is just so enticing.

They’re all finally sitting down for a meal together and debriefing so that everyone understands the plan for tomorrow. Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Dorian will stick with the Inquisitor wherever she decides to go while the rest will stay in the party gathering information and stopping whatever they could in front of the scenes. 

There’s some protests in that— _you’re leaving_ Sera _with the nobles?_ — _oi, like you’re any better!_ — _Inquisitor, please, let me come with you—Come on Seeker, you’_ _re gonna be hit with the crowd you have to stay_. 

Ariala stays mostly quiet but she does relax with the group. That is until one of the agents knocks on their quarters, “Inquisitor, your, uh, Auntie is here?” she informs, although, she seems unsure of it as well. 

The agent nearly gets knocked on her ass when an older women burst through the door—and surprisingly enough, Bull sees the relation between her Ariala. They have the same nose and lips. Everyone else at the table tenses up, ready to fight if the woman is not who she says she is.

Ariala stands and nearly gets knocked over just like the agent when the woman barrels into her for an embrace. The older lady nearly sobs as she holds Ariala tightly, and then she pulls back to cup her face and trace her rounded cheeks. “My sweet baby girl!” 

Ariala laughs—it’s different from her normal one, it’s pitched up a bit and soft on his ears—and cups her hands in her own and takes them off her face. “It’s good to see you too, Auntie.” She gently presses a kiss to their closed hands, and Bull can see how her eyes flick up and knows that maneuver by heart. 

“How are you, my dear? Oh Maker, when we heard of the Conclave we thought you died—my condolences for sweet Thaddeus and Thomas, we suffered a loss with the Conclave—but then _you_. We got word that _you lived_ , and, oh, just look at you sweetheart. You’re absolutely beautiful. You get that from your mother and myself, of course.” 

Ariala made a motion for another chair to be brought for her aunt to sit and sat back down in her chair without letting go of her hand. Her aunt sat down and quickly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the tears welling in her eyes. She genuinely looked grateful to see Ariala again, something that Bull wasn’t sure he thought was going to happen considering what he’s heard about her family and his own assumptions. 

“Condolences to you too, Auntie. You lost Uncle Cyrus and Thomas. If you don’t mind me asking, how is the family?” 

“Thank you, Ariala Bell. Your brothers miss you dearly and I’m quite frankly surprised they haven’t ran away to join your cause. William is absolutely restless without his baby sister and I’m sure you can guess how Abel is,” and she winks at Ariala. “Your mother and father also miss you, and please understand they are  _both_ proud of you. We all are. You are doing the Trevelyans proud.” 

“Modest in temper, bold in deed.” With that there’s something that cracks just a bit in Ariala, not only in the guise that she’s carefully crafted for Halamshiral but also the one for herself. She surges forward and throws her arms around her aunt and sits there in her arms. “I missed you, Auntie,” she admits and the room shifts, a bit uncomfortable at the intimate moment they are witnessing.

Her aunt smooths her hair, “I missed you more.” 

Ariala’s laugh is perfect at that moment.

At the actual ball, Ariala works better and harder than Bull ever thought she would. Her birth shows as the entirety of Orlais’ nobles fall into her hand with just a few carefully placed words and flirtations. 

The only time she actually seems a bit not in her own is when she slows down just a bit in the library to check for extra gossip for Leliana. The Winter Palace is practically covered in dirty secrets all for the taking of someone with an observant eye and an agenda—so practically a harvestfest for both Ariala and Leliana. 

Dorian and Vivienne head back to the party to try and keep the imagine that the Inquisition wasn’t completely just snooping around the palace. Although, Bull is certain that most know the Inquisition isn’t here just for the party. 

Ariala is surprisingly quiet as she works through the papers and letters scattered across the tables. She’s been pretty quiet to all of them—she’s over exerting herself with the whole ordeal of the Ball and he can see how it’s wearing on her. Even so, she’s performing how Bull through she would, which is perfectly. 

He thinks if given enough time, she could charm all of Thedas with just a few placed eye flutters and delicate words—Orlais is already taken with her. Or rather her mask, a familiar mask that her family has crafted for her and has been so intertwined with herself that it’s unremovable, and it drains her to do this again. The baggage that comes with being a noble seems to get larger every moment Bull gets to spend with her. 

His hands fall on her shoulders softly as though not to spook her, but even with his best efforts she jumps. He sighs and leans down until he can press a kiss to the top of her head—her hair is straightened and half pulled back and he’s extremely careful as to not mess it up. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate Orlesians yet? Don’t worry I won’t tattle to Josephine.”

She laughs softly but doesn’t lean into his touch like normal, “I’m doing great Bull.”

Her lie is as transparent as her smile and she seems to shrink under his touch. It’s weird— _wrong_. She not doing well, but he laughs anyway and moves to kiss right above her ear, “Of course, Lady Trevelyan, that wasn’t my question,” he teases and continues pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder. 

He moves his hand slowly down her body till he pushes his hand underneath her coat and cups her ass. “But that was my answer,” she coyly responds and for a moment it feels right again with her voice pitched just a bit lower. 

And it just snaps like that as fast as it was together again. “How about a little stress relief?” and he slips his hand around her waist and dips into the front of her pants. 

The elbow in his gut knocks all of the air out of him and he half falls back as she yelps out, “ _Katoh_.” 

It leaves her words like a gasp and she touches her lips as if she can’t believe she just said it. Bull wants to comfort her, but she’s shaking and gasping for breath. She holds onto the table like it’s the only thing keeping her alive at this moment, and Bull knows if he touches her in this moment that she’d lose it even more. 

Bull has seen this before with soldiers in his ranks—shit, he’s seen it in himself when something throws him just a bit back to Seheron. 

He waits and watches as she works through the memories and the panic, clutching and unclenching her hand as she breathes in and out. There’s a rhythm to it that Bull recognizes and realizes she’s done this before, many times. 

Bull wants to kill whoever did this to her. 

“What do you want me to do, Kadan?” he asks instead. 

Ariala spares him a glance and a small smile, “I’ll meet you in the ballroom.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing prepares him for when Cole appears next to him scaring most of the Chargers out of their half drunk, half slumber—Dalish in particular who was on Skinner’s lap completely asleep jumps far enough that some of her archer skills nearly electrocutes all of them. Bull steadies her with one hand on her shoulder and looks at the kid who just keeps on rolling his hands together and muttering. 

“Kid, you need to repeat it—I’m still half-asleep,” he slurs just a bit as the alcohol hasn’t completely left him, but tries to be more alert. The kid usually doesn’t come get him unless Ariala’s having problems sleeping—bad dreams and the sort. 

“The song, the pain—she’s dying. I’m supposed to get more people, but she needs you, the Iron Bull,” and like that he is gone. 

“Chief?” Krem asks, but Bull is already unceremoniously shoving them off of him and heading towards the door of the tavern.

  
_How_? He had just seen her earlier that night when he bid her goodbye to go see the Chargers one last time before Krem leads them to Orlais on Inquisition business. She was fine. She was playful, _happy_ —she should not be hurting. 

When he sees the dead guard oh the steps of the Skyhold keep, he breaks into a sprint. 

Her screams can be heard bouncing off the stone walls of Skyhold and his eye goes straight to the source. A small group is huddled around one of the tables and on the other side of the Inquisitor’s throne is a mass of ice—an assassin. That doesn’t explain why she is screaming. 

It’s Cassandra, Vivienne, the surgeon, and a guard that are not just surrounding her but holding her down. They’re all covered from head to toe in clothing besides the Seeker who just has a bandana covering her mouth. Ariala is gone. She struggles in their grip and screams out—she is _gone_ —

And Bull separates himself in this moment. He takes his emotions, his panic, his fear, his _grief_ , and separates it into a different part of himself so he can focus on helping Ariala because seeing her like this alone makes him feel like he’s going mad. 

This is the worst condition Bull has ever seen her. Even after Haven, she didn’t seem this ripped up. She’s been stripped to just her smalls—the rest of her clothing must have gotten ripped off of her as there’s claw marks all over her as if someone had used her as a scratching post. None of those cuts are bad besides the one on her throat, thigh, and stomach.

Throat is not deep, but is big and dangerous along with the other bruising on her neck. More than likely, she was choked—and multiple times by the looks of the different bruising. The gash on her stomach is long, but not too deep, most likely a knife, while the wound on her thigh is small but deep and easily identifiable as an arrow wound. 

Besides the superficial wounds, there must be some sort of poison at work as Ariala is completely delirious. She struggles against their grip as if their touch burns her and she looks clammy—although that can be a sign from the blood loss and eventual shock that follows. She gasps for air and in between her breaths she screams, she shouts, she just doesn’t _fucking shut up_. She’s completely gone and Bull hopes that it’s just a poison and isn’t in anyway permanent. 

“Seeker! Update,” he demands and rips a part of the table cloth to wrap around his mouth—too much work to try and cover himself like the rest of them. His mind filters through every type of poison he can think of that would cause Ariala’s symptoms. 

She’s much too busy to answer and doesn’t even spare him a glance, “Will you be able to hold her? Cole, we need Dorian and Solas and Dagna,” Cassandra instructs him and then looks back at Ariala after he nods and vanishes. 

Ariala’s breaths turn ragged as she struggles to breathe through her injured throat—why haven’t they treated _that_? 

Without a breath, Cassandra digs her fingers into the wound on Ariala’s leg and tugs out an arrowhead—and _fuck_ , that is red lyrium. No wonder she’s losing it, she has red lyrium being directly bled into her. Even just casual exposure is enough to put any of them on edge, and red lyrium directly into the blood stream is unheard of and the results are obvious. 

Immediate panic, paranoia, pain— _madness_. 

She thrashes in their grip and they can barely hold her. With the red lyrium and madness comes unfiltered power. She’s stronger now and can easily tear herself away, but she freezes when she starts to struggle to breathe. 

“I’m dying. Kill me. Kill me,” she chants over and over again with a voice showing the horrid condition her throat is in. Unless she shouts, her vocal cords are barely able to produce a noise, but Bull can see what she mouths ever single time. She’s _miserable_  and in so much pain he— 

Separates himself again. He needs to be able to focus and not break down for her.

“I got her,” Bull says and clamps his hands down on her arms, relieving Vivienne. The others look absolutely relieved to see him there to provide support. The surgeon works quick as they hold her down to tie a rope and a candlestick around her thigh to slow the bleeding. She twists it tight and then some before she puts her full weight on Ariala’s lower half. 

“Cassandra, clean the other wound,” she instructs and Bull barely processes it before Cassandra plunges her hand into the stomach wound. He is just fast enough to press his hand into her mouth to act as a gag. They did not need a crowd for this. 

She bites down _hard_. Bull can feel the bones in his hand stress underneath her jaw and he swears but holds it there. Cassandra pulls out shard after shard and every single jolts Ariala again until she drags her finger through the entire would and pulls out nothing. 

Cassandra just stands there and catches her breath for a moment and tries to wipe away some of the blood on her hands. “I think that should be it. I don’t sense any other red lyrium besides the amount she already metabolized. That, we will just have to wait out.”

“Can’t you seekers fucking burn the lyrium out?” Bull spits out.

“And kill her in the process, yes,” Cassandra snides back. “If that’s what you want, Bull.” 

Bull quickly turns back to look at her and breaths through his nose a couple times to regain composure before he does something he will regret. He needs to focus on Ariala and what will help her.

Her eyes focus on him and it’s like it’s the first time she’s seeing him and he can see the panic welling behind her eyes. The distant and terrified look is the only thing he can see in her eyes after a second. There is no recognition and a burning sensation settles in the back of his throat. 

“I will help her,” Cole says as he easily maneuvers his way to the front of the group. Her muscles visibly recoil at his touch and presence, but he keeps his hand on her shoulder.

“Thorn bushes that catch on her dress, but Nana always helps her before she rips it. It’s bitter on her lips but she eats another anyway. Sugar would make it better but is it better than straight off the bush? She tries another and still can’t decide.” 

Her muscles instantly relax as she listens to him, he can practically see her whatever little conscience she has left being dragged into whatever Cole is doing to her. As long as he takes the pain away, Bull is fine with whatever his methods are. 

Another group of people rush to the side and if Bull had less of a strong stance then he would have been pushed to the side by Dorian barreling into him. “ _Kaffas_. What’s going on?” Dorian can barely take in the sight in front of him and nearly throws himself back in revolt, but his hands holding onto the table keeps him rooted. 

“ _Her sister_ ,” Vivienne spits out with the most venom Bull has ever heard in her voice, “a rogue red Templar. She has severe red lyrium poisoning, not to mention the other physical ailments. The two deep cuts and her throat are the most pressing. She will probably go into shock the moment she burns through most of the red lyrium.” 

“What do you need us to do?” Dorian asks and Bull can see how he hesitates to touch her—as he should. There’s still a large amount of red lyrium inside of her and on her and it has nasty effects when it mixes with magic. 

“I will tell you when she is stable enough for healing spells to be properly done. Until then, we need to calm her and hope that the shock doesn’t kill her.” 

“Fire,” Vivienne adds. “Keep her extremely warm as to try and counteract the shock. After we set her ankle and knee, hold them up.” 

The surgeon pauses though and Bull watches her carefully. She might be the only one who can really keep her alive, “We need to be careful how much we try to heal. It could cause her more problems. I don’t know how her body is going to react to the red lyrium.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Dorian stutters out and creates a fire in his hands. It makes all of them sweat but at least there is some color returning to Ariala’s skin. She’s cold under his hold, but at least she’s not screaming anymore. Whatever Cole is doing for her—he can barely register the words—is working wonders in lulling her into a trance. She murmurs back to him, trying to answer but her throat is too swollen for the words to actually form unless she shouts.

But even Cole can’t take away the pain of setting a broken ankle and she breaks away and _screams_. It sets every part of him on edge.

She’s clawing at them and trying to get away and Bull can see on her hands where finger nails have been ripped off—and Bull can’t see her like this, _dying_. 

“Katoh,” he whispers and the muscles in her arms jump and then still. 

“Katoh,” he says again like a prayer falling from his lips, and finally the muscles in her arms relax and she looks at him. 

 

 

* * *

 

It’s one of those days where they nearly don’t make it to the bed. 

Quite frankly Ariala can barely remember when he took her clothes off but she’s naked and the rough stonework walls of their provided bedroom rub her back raw quickly. It’s been over a month since she saw Bull last, and with everything with the council going on, she _needs_  him. She needs him to fuck her and tell her how much he loves her until she can’t hear anything else. 

She needs him to do anything to get her thoughts off of the burning throb in her left hand that’s been persistent for the past two months and only getting worse. 

The privacy of the room is a godsend and Bull bitting at her tits sends her to the Maker’s side. She doesn’t even try to hold in the gasps and moans and it drives Bull to leave marks all over her chest and not hold back either. Her hands curl around his horns and pull him even closer to her, but she nearly lets go when he nips at a sensitive spot on her ribs. 

“Lady Trevelyan, are you about to come from just me sucking on your tits?” 

Well, that and the fact he had her legs spread far enough that she was rubbing off on his chest, was getting her off. 

“Bull,” she trails off into a moan before she yelps as his fingers cut into her thigh and back. He hums a warning into her chest and it’s hard to realize her mistake through the burning, coiling heat in her chest and stomach, but she catches on. “ _The_  Iron Bull,” she corrects. 

She can feel his smile against her and he pulls back even though she protests. And even though she got that wrong too, they just laugh into the next kiss because it’s been so long since they’ve been together and they both need this. Sometimes it’s too much work to do anything besides fuck, and sometimes all she wants is for Bull to hold her and make love to her. 

She doesn’t want the bells and whistles right now—she wants _him_. 

“I love you,” she tells him in between kisses, and he smiles against her lips, trying not to give in. 

The mood is lost but not necessarily worse off. 

“Love you,” she says again as he pulls her away from the wall and walks to the plush Orlesian bed that they had been provided with and have yet to break in. 

They’ll definitely fix that within the next couple minutes.

They fall to the bed, a tangle of his much larger body and her much smaller one folded together in ways that aren’t really comfortable but allow for them to touch more. He snorts against her lips, “I love you more, Kadan.” 

It’s not true but she lets him believe that as he starts trailing kisses down her neck and then down her body. She moans and arches into each kiss until he presses one into the dip of her hip. He nips at the sensitive and ticklish skin there and she _squirms_. If it weren’t for the arm still wrapped around her waist she would have been able to get away but he holds her in place as he just so gently and barely rubs his lips against that spot. 

“Bull!” she cries out and purposely kicks him so that maybe he would stop but that just spurs him on more. He uses his other hand to draw very lightly into the other dip of her hip. The sensitive skin jumps and jolts under his touch and she laughs before sitting up and doubling over in an attempt to stop him. All that does is nearly gets her stabbed in the tit with his horn. 

“What’s the matter, Kadan?” he asks kissing her stomach and then a line all the way up her body to her lips. 

She leans away from the kiss that’s aimed for her lips and he misses. His frown is the reason why she grins back and cups his face and—

—she ignores how hisface glows even more than before, how much more green there is, how the sharp pain is still there—

“Fuck me,” she whispers against his lips like it’s a secret she would tell her best friend, and giggles after she says it because this is their reunion after over a month and Maker be damned is she _happy_. She is so damned happy, and she needs to be happy now. She presses a desperate kiss to his lips and sighs as they part, “Make love to me,” she pleads and desperate ignores the pit in her stomach.

Bull laughs against her lips, full and hearty, “Whatever you want, Kadan.” 

She loses track of how they get from tangled sitting up and kissing to him positioning himself and thrusting inside of her, between the overwhelming pleasure from Bull and pain from the mark, her thoughts can’t keep anything straight. She’s absolutely frantic and hates it. She wants to feel Bull and that’s it. 

She holds onto him and doesn’t allow for any space to be made in between them, and he does the same. He holds her gently and thrusts at a perfect pace and angle that sets her immediately on edge just like earlier. The feeling of being stretched, being held by him, and pleasing Bull settles her slightly, but she’s still overwhelmed by the thoughts that have been plaguing her for months. 

Bull ducks a hand in between them and rubs at her clit sending pulses of pleasure through her. She can feel the beginnings of her orgasm in her twisting and coiling. Tears prick in her eyes and she ducks her head into the crook of Bull’s neck to hide them from him even though she knows he can feel them against his neck. 

He manages to push her over the edge through the severe pain that irritated from her hand, and she cries out into his ear, so thankful for him. She’s frenzied as she whispers into his ear how much she loves him, and she thumps her hand against his back because even through the numbing pleasure that curls up her spine and through her body, her hand _burns_. 

“Katoh!” she cries out almost too late when the agony of her hand flares out to her entire body. She kicks and cries and struggles to get him away from her because she doesn’t want the mark to hurt him too—she doesn’t want the mark to kill him too. 

She hits the ground hard and sobs when the first shock hits her. The mark flares, all she can see is green, all she can smell is the caustic smell of her burning flesh and the fade, and all she can feel is panic. 

The magic sears her skin and burns even deeper till the bone is aching. 

The spasms don’t stop for a couple minutes until she’s reduced into a sobbing mess on the ground at the base of the bed with Bull just looking over her, helpless, unable to do anything. Finally, the mark recedes to just her forearm and the pain dulls but doesn’t leave her completely, and she loses it. 

She is going to die. 

The Inquisition is going to be taken from her. 

She is going to lose Bull. 

Her fist slams down against the floor until she’s sure it’s bloody and then she punches the bed frame, crying out in frustration. She is dying and it’s all because of her _fucking_ hand. 

Bull scoops her up from the floor and holds her as tight as he can against him until it’s hard for her to breath, and then she sobs into his chest. He’s crying too because he knows it too. 

He knows she’s dying and neither of them can do anything about it. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It has only been a month since Bull has seen her.

After bidding goodbye to her at the docks in Kirkwall, with Hawke and Varric standing behind her and the kids at her feet, and when he docks back in Kirkwall after an urgent letter from Varric, there is only Varric there. 

“Where is she?” he asks immediately because she should be here. He left a job for this, he left her alone for a job, and she should still be here. Ariala  _promised_  him that she would be on the docks waiting for him when he came back. 

Varric just shakes his head and this shouldn’t be happening because for once Varric is at a loss for words. He can’t wait for him to get up the nerve to tell him what is going on so he starts on the familiar path towards Ariala’s home in Hightown. The cold feeling has spread through his chest and froze every part of so that he’s so close to shattering.

Varric stays on his heel and he’s calling after Bull, but he can’t stop, not now when she’s—she’s—he’s not even sure what fucking happened to her.

Finally when he gets to her door, moving on instinct, he’s shaking so hard that he’s unable to grip the doorhandle properly and when he does and tries to turn it, it’s locked. Varric lays his hand on his own and removes it, “I got the key,” he mumbles.

He unlocks the door and it smells right, it smells like her—spices and cream—but it’s completely empty. His heart is so far into his throat that he can’t even speak and he just rushes through the house, _looking_. It’s still lived in at least.  

Finally, he just breathes and calms himself and sits in the main room where Varric is. The dwarf is sitting on couch and won’t look him in the eye—shit, he won’t even look in his direction. He’s just got his hands stuffed in his pockets and is mulling around.

“Varric, what the fuck is going on?” he breathes out and tries to remain as composed as he can.

Varric lets out a breath that he’s been holding in ever since he saw Bull at the docks and runs a hand through his hair, “Shit, Tiny. She’s gone.”

And just like that the one who had originally been his anchor from being Tal-Vasoth is gone. He wants to move and scream and run but all he can do is sit in the chair and feel him lose the battle to control himself. 

When his friend on Seheron died, the grief overcame him. When he lost the Qun, Ariala eased the grief. Now, the grief will overwhelm him.

“She’s not dead, she just disappeared,” Varric clarifies, and that does little to make him feel better. The only difference between dead and lost is there is a body if someone is dead. “She left letters for, fuck, she left letters for everyone. She’s been planning this awhile.” 

He had seen her a month ago. She kissed him goodbye on the docks. She had known then that this was the last time she was going to see him. 

The hands that are cupping his neck curl—just like how she held him, how she comforted him—until he can feel the pinpricks of pain extend into severe points where he’s breaking the skin. He tries to breathe but the air isn’t there and so he accepts that he can’t breathe. 

“Where’d she go?” he asks, it’s futile. She didn’t leave anything for them to trace, he knows this for a fact. 

Varric just shrugs, “Nothing—I—er—think, we didn’t go through any of the letters but our own, respect, you know, but I figure after we hand ‘em all out we can try, but, well.” 

He wants to ask how she left—they had at least two guards on her at all times to protect her—not to mention Leliana who also had spies positioned too. She couldn’t have just _disappeared_. Of course, this is Ariala, the Inquisitor, of course she could escape everyone in Kirkwall. 

“She left through the Elluvian.” 

  
_Oh_. 

That makes him snap his head up, “What—"

“At least we think, Daisy can’t get into it now. It’s locked, or, whatever.” 

“Then we _unlock_  it!” 

“Tiny, Daisy can’t do it and she _made_ it."

“Then we find someone who can!"

He barely recognizes the front door opening and clenches his jaw to stop himself from losing it even more. Fenris, Hawke, and Nana walk into the room carefully, aware of the tense atmosphere, and with them are the girls. It calms him and terrifies when he sees the two of them. Ada is holding tightly onto Fenris’ hand, and it always strikes Bull how much she is like Ariala in that she immediately picks up on the atmosphere of the room and zeroes in on Bull. 

Evie is asleep in Hawke’s arms and that doesn’t surprise him at all, and thankfully, she remains sleeping as Hawke quickly takes her to bed. The moment they hear the door shut close, tears well up in Ada’s eyes and she rushes forward to Bull. “Papa!” she cries out and runs into his arms. 

He gently holds her and rocks her as the burning sensation behind his nose builds up until tears roll down his cheeks as well. “I got you,” he whispers to her and runs his fingers through her curls. 

“I’m so sorry,” she wails and any sort of anger that Bull had is gone as he holds his daughter in his arms. She’s so small and young and she does not deserve to have her mother taken away like this. It’s unfair—first the Inquisition took her away and now _this_. 

Bull ignores Hawke returning back to the room and focuses on Ada. He presses a kiss to her cheek and then forehead and it quells her tears a bit. “It’s alright. I’m here now,” he tries to comfort her.

“I coulda stopped her,” she hiccups and he shushes her, gently rocking her back and forth on his knee. 

“It’s okay. I’m here now, Kadan,” he says because he doesn’t know what to say to her. Doesn’t know what to say to a girl who just lost her mother, whose mother willingly left her—no he doesn’t know how to comfort _his daughter._  


_Katoh._

**Author's Note:**

> some notes about each part:   
> 1\. the shoddy job on the ropework was intentional on Bull's part and pre-tough love  
> 2\. post-tough love, and is a huge warning pls people with vaginas don't have sex unless you are aroused (also this was intentional on Ariala's part)  
> 3\. Ariala mainly was triggered because of how in her family parties before she was groped and worse and Bull doing the same to her, well, it was bad  
> 4\. based on the fact that i am in shock that an assassin was never sent after the inquisitor and red lyrium was never used as a poison and there was definitely some trevelyans on the other side of the war  
> 5\. i cried while writing this, a lot  
> 6\. my thoughts if your quiz drank from the well they are def going to be MIA next game, also Ariala's two baby girls get a small cameo with her daughter and then her and Bull's daughter (as it is confirmed that qunari/human can happen) 
> 
> and with this labor of love over, thank you


End file.
